


No Longer Her

by sutsop



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, But really only has himself to blame, F/M, Post-Break Up, Smut, sad solas is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sutsop/pseuds/sutsop
Summary: Solas tries to fill the void.





	No Longer Her

There were good times.

_Weren’t there?_

Times that didn’t involve lies or tears.

His hands gripped the headboard behind him, and he realized couldn’t even remember her name. There were always more, offering themselves gladly to gain his favor. All he had to do was lie there and close his eyes. Wrap his fingers around the wooden rails, and lose himself to whoever straddled his hips that night.

“Did she fuck you like this?”

She was eager, her knees digging into the mattress. Ready and writhing on top of him. What else could a god desire?

A false god, a trickster. A fool, a deceiver. He broke the things that were dearest to him.

“Let me make you come,” she pleaded.

He grasped her roughly by the waist, flipping her onto her back and burying himself within again. He wanted to forget. He knew it was pointless, pouring wine and sex into a void that could never be filled. No one to blame but himself.

But she was so close. He could almost believe it was _her,_ if only she’d stop talking. His lips skimmed up the shell of her ear, “You must be quiet, _vhenan’ara.”_

How many times had he said those words?

Finding warmth in each others arms on cold mornings. Lying together on the hard ground, soldiers lurking a few feet away with just a sheet of canvas separating them. Watching her bite her lip so the Inquisition’s finest wouldn’t hear how their precious Herald spread her thighs so eagerly for him. Leaving her full and flushed as he slipped back to his own tent unnoticed.

Pulling her into an empty corridor in the Winter Palace, he’d pinned her against the wall next to some ghastly portrait of a long dead Orlesian duchess. The painted face their only observer as he slid his hand beneath the red wool, and pumped his fingers into her. She was there to learn the Game, and who better than he to take her aside and teach her its finer points. Hand pressed over her mouth, eyes wide with shock when he made her come. He’d walked back into the grand ballroom with a subtle smile on his lips and the taste of her honey still on his tongue.

Hearing her whisper _ar lath ma_ , and hoping he was mistaken. Knowing he had gone too far, but unable to stop the echo that escaped. She would hang on his every word, and believe the lies that spilled from his lips. But he wished it all true. She was more beautiful in that moment than any other. She sang and he didn’t silence her that time.

Love that bordered on obsession. That was the beginning, the pull before the push.

Then it all became twisted and snarled and he felt the wolf rise up too far inside of him. He drove her away by degrees, and watched the pain in her eyes with little care. The mask had begun to slip.

He thought he could be he could be her wandering apostate. He thought he could set it aside and lose himself to the pleasure of this impossible creature that had stolen what was his - his orb, his heart. He thought he could drown out the drumbeat of fate and necessity with the sound of her sighs.

Instead he alternated between cold and calculating. He couldn’t hold onto her, nor could he bear to let her go.

Now all he wanted was to obscure the loss of her with another lie.

Her skin was fair like _hers_ , and his fingers wrapped tightly into a handful of dark waves like _hers_. “Shhh…” he commanded, as his pace quickened in the dimly lit room. Even her scent was almost right - they’d found the bars of cypress soap in an apothecary in Lydes, and he’d nearly wept.

He buried his face in her neck, and let himself pretend. It was _her_ underneath him, his _vhenan_ . He didn’t need her voice, because he would make her body sing for him. He knew the precise angle - he remembered the way her back arched and her breath caught in her throat when he found it the first time. Her legs draped over his shoulders, letting him push himself deep enough. He’d almost been cruel, dragging the release from her so slowly. He knew just when to slip his hand between them, where to slide to coax her over the edge. He had to be patient, to hold her there until she tried to force it from him. It wasn’t the how or the where that was most important - it was the _when_. Just when desperation began to set in, when he could smell the need dripping from her.

“Oh, _yes_ , Fen’harel,” she gasped.

The illusion was broken too soon. He had wanted to hold _her_ for just a moment longer. Instead he spilled himself inside of another, release in body only.

_Solas. Please call me Solas again, ma’sa’lath…_


End file.
